The Ties That Bind
by Lil black dog
Summary: A sequel  of sorts  to 'Learning Curve,' McCoy first learns of the existence of a mind link between Kirk and Spock when Jim is captured by the Gorn and tortured to within an inch of his life, the bond their only hope of finding him before it's too late.


A/N: A sequel (of sorts) to 'Learning Curve,' McCoy first learns of the existence of a mind link between Kirk and Spock when Jim is captured by the Gorn and tortured to within an inch of his life, the bond their only hope of finding him before it's too late. Prior knowledge of 'Learning Curve' would be helpful, but not necessary. A K,S&M friendship story encompassed within the wider framework of the ensemble cast. Warning: Minor character death. This story has been percolating for months now, and was born from ideas inspired by two free writes which were never written.

Beta: As always, thanks to the lovely T'Paya for her unparalleled advice. I'd be lost without her. :-D

**The Ties That Bind**

'_What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of a man?' _ 'Dracula,' by Bram Stoker

He shivered involuntarily as he read that passage, memories from long ago sifting through the layers of his mind. He'd first read this book at the age of six, expressly against his mother's wishes, and it had given him nightmares for weeks. Now, as an adult, he often revisited the work, the beautiful, stirring prose never failing to give him a new appreciation of its messages of good versus evil, the increasing strain runaway technology and a shifting moral compass could place on a society unprepared for rapid change, and most importantly the role powerful friendship could play in the face of an overwhelming, nearly insurmountable situation.

His eyes skimming rapidly over the text, he soon became lost in that Victorian world of the past. The whistle of the intercom above his bed wrenched him firmly back into the present. Sparing a quick glance at the chronometer he noted the time: 21:37. Carefully closing the 300-year-old tome, he raised himself on an elbow, depressing the switch on the comm unit, activating the viewer.

"Kirk here. Go ahead Lieutenant."

"_Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we're receiving a distress call from the vicinity of the Boradis system. Our outpost there says they're under attack."_

He was already on his feet, tugging the gold uniform tunic over his head, closing the fastener at the neck. "On my way, Mister Farrell. Page Mister Spock and have him meet me on the bridge." Scooping up his boots, he made for the door to his quarters, disappearing into the corridor beyond.

oooOOOooo

"What do we know about the planet, Spock?" Kirk asked, perched on the railing behind the science station.

The Vulcan swiveled in his chair. "It lies on the outskirts of Federation space, situated on the leading edge between the Gorn Hegemony and the Klingon Empire. Uninhabited, it does present some useful minerals, but more importantly represents an ideal location from which to monitor activity both within the Gorn sphere of influence and Klingon space. It could be our first line of defense, and our first warning, should the Gorn or the Klingons show a desire to start hostilities by encroaching into that region of Federation territory. Several months ago, an outpost was established there with the express mission of gleaning intelligence regarding the Gorn's movements. Recent reports indicate that they have been occupying more and more worlds close to the border within their territory. The purpose of this outpost has been to determine their intentions with regard to this activity; whether it is simply exploration and expansion within the boundaries of their empire, or if they are massing forces in preparation for a large-scale assault on Federation forces."

"And?" Kirk prompted.

"Results are inconclusive as of yet. If this does represent the preliminary stages of an attack, this may be the first indication of a more widespread attempt to 'increase the borders' of their territory, so to speak."

"Mister Farrell, do we have any additional information?" Kirk asked, climbing to his feet and addressing the communications officer.

"No sir; the message was brief. It stated simply that they were under attack and in need of assistance, but no mention was made of by whom, and contact was lost shortly thereafter."

"Mister Hadley, ETA to the Boradis system?" he asked, turning to face the beta shift navigator.

"One hour, thirteen minutes at warp four, sir," Hadley supplied quickly.

"Plot a course for Boradis III, Navigator. Proceed at warp four. Go to yellow alert. Mister Farrell, inform Starfleet Command of this development. Find out if there are any other ships in the area that can offer assistance as well, and page Doctor McCoy, Engineer Scott, Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov as well as Commander Giotto and have them assemble in Briefing Room Three in fifteen minutes. Mister Leslie, you have the con. Let's go, Spock," he said, collecting the science officer with a nod and making for the turbolift.

oooOOOooo

"So that's the situation we are facing," Kirk informed them, his gaze sweeping the faces of his senior officers seated at the table. Spock had just finished a detailed explanation of the outpost and its objective. "Evaluations, gentlemen?"

"It sounds like it should be the Gorn," Sulu said, "but suppose it's a ruse and it's really the Klingons who are responsible, given the location of the Boradis system?"

"But what would the Klingons have to gain by doing so?" McCoy demanded. "Besides, if they were responsible wouldn't the Organians put a stop to it?"

"Not necessarily, Doctor," Scotty speculated. "If it's a covert operation, the actual perpetrator in question, the Klingons could argue the point, deny any involvement."

"Precisely, Mister Scott, but there may be another benefit as well," Spock supplied. "If we become embroiled in a conflict with the Gorn over territory, it may allow the Klingons to surreptitiously attempt to expand their borders elsewhere into neutral space. Under the Organian Peace Treaty, much like Sherman's Planet, disputed worlds in as yet unclaimed territory will be awarded to one side or the other based upon which government can be shown to best aid in the development of that world."

"And there are many such areas," Chekov added. "They might be interested in a world thousands of parsecs from here. If they can distract us, they might be able to lay claim to the planet in question before the Federation."

"Commander, you've been quiet," Kirk said, addressing Giotto.

"It's more likely to be the Gorn, Captain," the security chief replied. "The increased activity we've seen along their border with Federation space suggests they are planning a raid into our space, or at least a response to our placing an outpost on Boradis III, just as they were disgruntled with the facility on Cestus III. Whether it's just that, or something more, remains to be seen.

"The Gorn aren't really known for their philanthropic or world-building skills, making it unlikely that the recent activity is due to scientific curiosity. This may be an intentional attempt on their part to assess our reaction to their encroachment into Federation territory. We can't count on the Metrons to intervene again, especially since neither side has trespassed into their sphere of influence. If it is the Gorn, given their warlike tendencies, we need to act swiftly, and decisively; otherwise, this may serve as an invitation to them to press the boundaries between our two regimes."

"Agreed," Kirk conceded. The intercom on the table sparked to life at that moment. "Kirk here; go ahead Mister Farrell."

"S_ir, Starfleet advises us to proceed at best possible speed and render assistance. The _Potemkin_ is eighteen hours away, and has been dispatched to offer whatever aid we may require." _

"Thank you, Mister Farrell. ETA to Boradis III?"

A moment as Farrell could be heard consulting the navigator. _"Thirty-five minutes at present speed, sir."_

Kirk looked askance at Scotty, who nodded slightly. "Increase speed to warp five. Keep monitoring all frequencies for any additional transmissions; I don't like going in blind."

"_Aye, sir."_

Kirk snapped off the comm unit. "Well, there you have it, gentlemen. Mister Sulu and Mister Chekov, I want you manning the helm and navigation." He turned to the security chief. "Commander, put together a security team and assemble in the transporter room in fifteen minutes. Scotty, Spock – let's get to the bridge and find out what the hell's going on down there," he declared resolutely, striding from the room, the others hurrying to keep pace, McCoy bringing up the rear.

oooOOOooo

"Captain, a ssship is approaching," the tactical officer reported.

"Helm, make sssure you keep the planet between usss and them. We are not to be detected."

"Aye, sssir."

"Lieutenant, put me in touch with our ssship on the sssurface; pinpoint burssst, and ssscrambled."

"Channel isss open, Captain," the communication's officer informed him.

"A Federation ssship isss en route. Power down all sssystems. Passive scansss only. If a forccce arrivesss on the sssurface, your mission isss to capture the persssonnel and return them here for quessstioning. Hopefully they will be of hardier ssstock than our previousss captivesss and we'll be able to exxxtract sssome ussseful information from them before they exxxpire."

"_Underssstood, Captain."_

oooOOOooo

Spock was manning the scanners as they approached the planet in question. "No signs of a ship in the vicinity, sir, but warp trails indicate there was activity in the area within the hour."

"Could a ship be hiding behind the planet itself?"

"That is always a possibility, Captain," the Vulcan Science Officer supplied.

"Mister Farrell, any word from the surface?"

"Negative, Captain. I've been hailing on all frequencies, but there's been no response from the outpost."

"Any other subspace chatter in the area?"

"Negative, sir. If there's a ship behind Boradis III, they're maintaining radio silence."

"Mister Spock, readings of the outpost?"

"Scans show it has been severely damaged; there are no life-form readings."

Kirk ran a hand over his chin. "Can we tell who's responsible?"

"Not without further evaluation at the scene."

"Then let's get to the bottom of this. Spock, you're with me. Scotty, you're in command. Whoever did this might still be in the area, so be ready. I want deflector shields raised as soon as we arrive on the surface. Engineer, you will do whatever is necessary to protect the ship. Those of us on the surface are expendable, the _Enterprise _is not. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," Scott replied grimly.

Kirk headed for the turbolift, Spock falling into step at his shoulder. "What about me? I'm coming with you," McCoy interjected, placing himself in Kirk's path.

"Not necessary, Bones; Spock said no one was left alive."

"And what if the sensors are wrong; the readings too faint to be detected? You might need me down there."

"Very well, Doctor," Kirk conceded grudgingly. "Scotty, take good care of my ship. Gentlemen," he said, gesturing to the turbolift, "Let's go find out what happened down there."

oooOOOooo

They materialized amid clouds of acrid smoke. The base lay in ruins all around them. Giotto could be heard in the background, ordering his men to set up a perimeter. Kirk flipped open his communicator.

"_Scott here, Captain."_

"The base has been completely destroyed. We're looking for survivors now," he said, heading for what was left of the main building, Spock and McCoy a few steps behind him, the Vulcan's tricorder whirring loudly. "Status report, Scotty."

"_Still no evidence of other vessels in the area, sir. Shields are up an' we're maintainin' Red Alert status."_

"Good. We'll assess things here and notify you when we're ready to beam up."

"_Aye, sir. Scott out."_

Kirk closed the device to find Spock at his elbow. "Something?" he asked, a hand shading his eyes from the bright glare of the sun.

"Yes. It seems Commander Giotto was correct. The pattern of destruction is consistent with Gorn weaponry and tactics."

"And Spock got it right aboard the ship – no life form readings in the area," McCoy added grimly, approaching the two of them.

"Then where the hell are they?" Kirk wondered aloud. "No enemy forces here on the surface, no ship in orbit. It's atypical of them not to stand their ground; to disappear without a fight."

"Is it possible they're hoping to keep the Metrons from intervening again, while still protecting their interests?" McCoy speculated.

"In all probability this was meant to send a clear message to the Federation that the Gorn will simply not allow what they perceive to be aggressive behavior along their border," Spock supplied.

"That's unacceptable," Kirk declared adamantly. "Unlike the outpost at Cestus III, there were no weapons at this facility. There was no evidence whatsoever that our intentions were hostile, and this planet lies well within Federation territory. Suppose there had been a colony here – the casualties could have been much higher. We've got to respond; an attack of this nature cannot be tolerated."

At that moment Giotto loped up to the three men, slightly winded. "No evidence of enemy personnel in the area, Captain, but it's got Gorn written all over it."

"No wounded, either," Kirk informed the Head of Security. "They were quite thorough. Spock, Bones, make a recording of this; it can be used as evidence when the Federation Council confronts the Gorn Hegemony. Commander, recall your security team. Prepare to beam up in five minutes, gentlemen."

Spock and McCoy stepped away, tricorders trained on the destruction before them. Giotto was speaking into his communicator, and Spock had turned, a puzzled expression on his face, mouth open to speak, when all hell broke loose. A little ship appeared out of nowhere, disruptors mounted on her hull expertly picking off the two security guards making their way back to rejoin the others.

"Cover!" Kirk shouted, as the remaining members of the landing party scattered, secreting themselves behind large bits of rubble. Kirk's communicator began to beep incessantly. "Kirk here."

"_Scotty, sir. A Gorn ship has just emerged from behind the planet. She is demandin' our surrender, or she'll open fire."_

"Reveal yourselvesss," a loudspeaker on the small scout ship hovering above the landing party declared. "Failure to do ssso will resssult in your deathsss." None of the _Enterprise _men moved.

"Under no circumstances are you to surrender, Mister Scott. Defend yourselves, but get the ship to safety if need be," Kirk shouted into his communicator.

A blue beam lanced out of the small ship, striking the section of wall behind which Giotto was hiding. The security chief screamed as large bits of debris rained down on him, a massive chunk of stone pinning him by his left leg. Spock and McCoy were instantly on the move to aid the injured man.

"All right, don't shoot!" Kirk shouted, jumping from behind the pillar that had been sheltering him. "We surrender." Kirk spared a glance behind him. "Bones, Spock, how is Giotto?" he asked, gaze traveling between his men and the enemy ship before them. His communicator was still open. The captain could only hope the _Enterprise _was monitoring the events that were currently unfolding.

"He's in a bad way, Captain. He needs immediate attention or we'll lose him," this from McCoy.

The alien scout ship landed a dozen meters before them, weapons still trained on the remaining members of the landing party. A hatch on the side opened, five Gorn crewmen pouring out of the breach, disruptors leveled at the four men. "Throw down your weaponsss," one of them hissed.

"All right," Kirk said, one arm raised, palm open as he tossed his phaser on the ground in front of him. Behind him, he heard the clink of Spock and McCoy's weapons hitting the ground as well.

"And your communication devicesss," the same alien, obviously in command of the small band of troops, demanded next. Kirk carefully dropped his, the wire mesh grid remaining open. Two metallic thuds in the background confirmed his friends had done the same.

"Crewman Kulassa, collect their weaponsss," the leader instructed, one member of the alien team rushing forward to comply.

"And now, you will come with usss," their leader said, waving them toward the scout ship with his disruptor. McCoy and Spock bent to roll the heavy stone off Giotto's leg.

"Not him," the tall lizard hissed.

"This man needs prompt medical attention," McCoy argued, blue eyes flashing with indignation, he and Spock standing their ground.

"Move away, or thisss one will die." A disruptor was leveled at Kirk. Exchanging glances with one another, Spock and McCoy came to stand beside their captain.

"We're not leaving without Giotto," Kirk stated resolutely.

"It isss dishonorable for a warrior not to die in battle," the green-skinned alien stated simply, training his weapon on Giotto. The security chief, who had been motionless, reached for his phaser in a blur of activity. Kirk fought to race to the downed man, restrained by McCoy and Spock. The commander disappeared in a hail of blue energy.

"And now, you will board the ssship," the leader reiterated, other members of his crew grabbing the remaining threemen and shoving them roughly toward the open hatch.

oooOOOooo

"That's it, Mister Scott. The transmission just ended abruptly, and they don't answer my hails," Farrell informed the acting captain.

"That tears it. Were they taken captive or did they manage to escape?" Scott remarked grimly. His thoughts were interrupted by Sulu.

"Mister Scott, the Gorn ship is opening fire," the helmsman announced forcefully, his voice tense.

"Evasive maneuvers. Mister Chekov, prepare to launch photon torpedoes. They might be faster than us, but if memory serves their weapons were inferior to ours. Aim for her engines and shield systems, Ensign. If possible, I want her disabled, not destroyed. Then we'll have proof positive that they were the ones who encroached into our territory."

The _Enterprise _shuddered beneath them as she received a glancing blow from the enemy's weapons.

"Damage report," Scotty snapped.

"Shields are holding," Sulu supplied.

"Photon torpedoes locked on target," the Russian navigator interjected.

"Fire."

Three balls of red energy could be seen impacting the small craft. She rocked under the force of the blows.

"Chekov, man the scanners. Mister Sulu, take over weapons control."

Chekov bounded up the stairs to the science station, activating the hooded viewer. "Their shields are at forty percent, Mister Scott. Their warp drive is damaged but still functional."

"Incoming," Sulu informed them as the other ship spewed forth another blast of energy.

The bridge crew fought to stay in their seats as the _Enterprise _bucked and danced under the alien weapon's power. "Direct hit, Mister Scott. Our number two shield now at sixty-five percent, others holding. No appreciable damage," Chekov supplied.

"Fire, Mister Sulu!"

Once again, the alien ship shimmied under the impact of the _Enterprise's _weapons.

"Got him, sair," Chekov reported, face bathed in the blue glow of the scanner. "Shields gone, warp drive damaged to the point that it is non-functional."

"Sir, they're no longer targeting us, but have locked weapons on another ship," this from Sulu, his voice rife with confusion.

"Confirmed, sair. A small vessel has just attained escape velocity from the planet and is headed for the Gorn ship."

"Mister Scott," Farrell interrupted, "We're being hailed."

"Put it on screen," Scott said.

A scaly, green face slowly wavered into view.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, commanding the starship _Enterprise. _ Yer shields are gone and yer engines inoperative. Do ye wish to discuss terms of yer surrender?" the third-in-command asked before the other could speak.

"On the contrary, it isss you who will sssurrender to usss."

"Not likely," Scott replied sardonically.

"Our vessel may be damaged at the moment, but we have taken three of your officersss hossstage. They are in the ssscout ssship currently en route to usss."

"I dinna believe ye," Scott announced with conviction, but his eyes traveled to Chekov.

"Confirmed, Mister Scott," the navigator whispered in a voice that would not carry over the open mike, "Reading two humans and a Vulcan aboard the ship."

"We have our weaponsss locked on her. If you fire on usss or make any threatening movesss, we will dessstroy her."

"How do we know they're really on board, and that ye haven't killed them already?"

"Obssserve." The alien captain gestured over his shoulder, and the image on the screen dissolved into the interior of the scout ship. The three senior _Enterprise _officers were seated together, disruptors trained on them. "You will allow the ssship to dock with usss unmolesssted, or they will be killed."

"How do we know ye won't kill them anyway?" Scott asked angrily.

A low, gruff chuckle rumbled from the throat of the alien captain. "You don't. But they will cccertainly be killed if you intervene." And with that, the screen went dark.

"What do we do now, Mister Scott?" Chekov asked.

"The only thing we can do, lad – we wait."

oooOOOooo

Once the ship docked, the three were hustled off immediately, Kirk quickly separated from the others. Spock and McCoy soon found themselves in the alien ship's brig, a dark, dingy little room with a sloping ceiling and a low metal bench attached to the back wall, the only appointment in the austere cell. A thick, orange fluid dripped intermittently from a small rift in an overhead pipe, pooling in a viscous puddle on the grimy floor below. Seated next to Spock, McCoy surveyed the room with trepidation, finding the dark stains peppered about the floor and walls most disturbing. Even worse was the cloying scent of decay that permeated the stale air. He shuddered involuntarily, glancing at Spock. What he saw he found even more disquieting. Usually when Jim was in danger, Spock was like a caged tiger, pacing, plotting, smoke practically pouring out of his ears as the Vulcan worked to find a solution, a way to get to and protect his captain. But now Spock was sitting stock-still, withdrawn, eyes unfocused.

"Spock?" McCoy asked hesitantly, drawing the Vulcan back from wherever it was he had gone. The brown eyes that met his as Spock turned to face him in the dim light were…twisted with pain? "You okay?" McCoy was definitely on edge now, even more so than before.

"I am merely attempting to assess the situation," Spock supplied, rather unconvincingly to McCoy's mind.

"What's there to assess? We've been taken captive, Jim's been herded off God-knows-where, and we have no way to help him, let alone find him on this flying tin can. If you ask me, it doesn't get any plainer than that."

"I am endeavoring to contemplate our alternatives, Doctor," the Vulcan informed him.

"What alternatives? Unless you've got a phaser hidden up your sleeve, seems to me we're stuck here for the long haul, and these creatures can put a world of hurt on Jim if they want to. For some reason, they don't seem to be as slow or lumbering as I remember. Their reflexes definitely aren't on par with ours, but this time their reactions are quick enough to pose a real danger when combined with their superior strength."

"It is possible that during our initial confrontation with them, the Metrons intervened to even the stakes so to speak. By slowing their movements, it placed the Gorn captain and Jim on an equal footing, forcing the two combatants to excel based on their individual assets – brute force versus intellectual ingenuity," Spock speculated.

"Be that as it may, it's only gonna make things worse for Jim. I can't imagine the Gorn captain invited him to his quarters for afternoon tea."

"They are a warlike race; therefore one can only surmise they separated the captain from us in an attempt to glean useful intelligence from him." A look of grim determination molded itself to the stony Vulcan mask.

"You mean they're gonna torture him to get him to talk," McCoy stated matter-of-factly.

"I believe I just said that, Doctor."

"And that doesn't bother you? You announced that like you were merely giving the number of clicks to the nearest planet. You're in command here. Do something!" he demanded hotly.

"I am 'doing something,'" Spock answered cryptically, a shadow passing over his features.

McCoy was undaunted. "What? It looks to me like you're just sitting here," he pressed, but the Vulcan remained strangely silent, as if his focus was now within, rather than on their current predicament, flashes of…something…crossing the expressionless visage now and then.

oooOOOooo

Kirk found himself whisked along the narrow corridors of the little ship, two heavily-muscled guards flanking him, their movements somewhat quicker than he remembered from his previous encounter with the Gorn. Unfortunately, their physical prowess was another matter. Calculated attempts at breaking free, more with the intention of gauging their strength, had told him it was just as he remembered. Like before, he was no match for them physically.

He was now walking sedately between the two, his mind racing. The engines were quiet, the alien ship not moving. But she didn't seem to be under attack, either. No klaxons were sounding, no lights flashing indicating a heightened alert status, no damage control crews racing through the corridors. She wasn't being rocked by weapons fire, either, or engaging in the aerial ballet that marked evasive maneuvers. Had his ship been destroyed? Or damaged to the point that Scotty had retreated?

He was brought out of these dark thoughts as burly arms shoved him roughly through a doorway. He landed on his knees, barely able to catch himself before his face smashed into the floor. He was hauled to his feet by a set of strong hands, flung into a high-backed, lattice-work metal chair.

He glanced up into the face of his captor. The unevenly textured green skin was thick, leathery; had a slight sheen to it. The silver, multi-faceted eyes, similar to a Terran insect, seemed to bore into his very soul. As during his earlier contact with this race, he found himself fighting down feelings of disgust, of the instinctive loathing and fear most humans had of all things reptilian, struggling to remind himself that these were sentient, intelligent beings capable of traveling the stars. A wave of queasiness swept over him as the being bent close, fetid breath kissing his cheek.

"Ssso, Captain; of all the ssstarships to anssswer the dissstress call, thanksss be to Kujanga the all-powerful, it wasss yoursss."

"Do I know you?" He looked like the Gorn captain Kirk had battled at the behest of the Metrons, but then again so did the other two guards.

"Not yet. But I will sssoon remedy that. The captain you fought on that desssolate world fashioned by the Metronsss wasss my brother. He wasss put to death asss sssoon asss they returned him, for failing to defeat ssssuch an inferior, weak ssspecimen. Thisss brought much ssshame to my family. And now, I find myssself in a posssition to remedy that sssituation; to ressstore my family'sss honor."

He stepped back, signaling to the two guards who quickly stepped in, binding the captain's arms and legs tightly to the chair.

"If I'm so weak and inferior, then why do you need to tie me up?" Kirk realized goading the large lizard was probably not in his best interest, but he was rapidly running out of options.

A throaty hiss, what passed for laughter in their race, rumbled out through scaly lips. "Becaussse I wisssh to make thisss asss unpleasssant, asss terrifying for you asss possible."

Kirk swallowed grimly. He had no doubt the creature would make good on its promise.

oooOOOooo

Scotty had been sitting quietly in the command chair for several minutes now, lost in thought, a fist pressed to his cheek.

Members of the bridge crew had been shooting furtive glances at him, waiting impatiently for their acting captain to come up with a plan of action. Chekov had been supplying periodic updates: The little ship had docked; all three men were removed; they had been separated, two being held in one location, the third in another. The Gorn's shields were still inoperative, warp engines still off-line.

Suddenly Scott was on his feet, climbing the two steps to the science station. "I want ye to keep them under constant surveillance, lad. If we get any chance to lower our shields, I want to be able to beam them aboard at a moment's notice."

He scrubbed at his chin. "The captain an' the others will most likely know we have our shields up, so if they manage to escape, it's a sure bet they'll make for the scout ship – it'll be their only means to get away – but if the ship undocks, more'n likely the Gorn will destroy her, knowin' it's probably the captain an' the others on board. We'll need to come up with a way to safeguard that ship in the event that they do manage to steal her."

He turned to the communications officer. "Mister Farrell, page Lieutenant DeSalle. I want him up here right away."

"Aye, sir," Farrell acknowledged, fingers playing over the console before him.

"Why DeSalle?" Sulu asked, swiveling in his chair to face Scotty.

"Because despite the fact that he's in the midst of his security rotation right now, during the year he worked for me he was the best engineer I had. I can't think of anyone on board who could solve this problem faster."

Early into their five-year mission, the captain and first officer had realized the importance of having an XO well-versed in many aspects of starship operations, and had proposed a five-year course to Starfleet Command designed to groom promising young officers for duty as a starship's second-in-command. From that idea the REFLEX (Reserve Fleet Executive Officer) Training Program was born. Each of the twelve starships was to have one candidate; after much consideration, Lieutenant Vincent DeSalle had been chosen for the _Enterprise_, but immediately recognizing the value of such additional training, the command team had decided that other ship's personnel should also be exposed to areas outside their specialty, Chekov most notably.

The program involved a one-year rotation in each of the following areas: Command, engineering, communications, security and lastly the sciences. DeSalle had completed his engineering rotation over two years ago, but Scotty still counted him as among the best and brightest of the young engineers on board – had even granted him the title of Assistant Chief Engineer during his tenure there. Given the current situation, it wouldn't be a problem to pull him away from his present duties and task him with this urgent project.

"Commander, I have Lieutenant DeSalle on the line," Farrell informed Scott.

Scotty leaned over the communications console. "Lieutenant, I want to see ye up here on the bridge in five minutes. I've got a tricky engineering problem I'd like ye to take a crack at."

"_On my way, sir,"_ came the rapid-fire response.

oooOOOooo

McCoy had watched the Vulcan in silence for close to ten minutes now. Finding his impatience getting the better of him, he jumped to his feet, beginning his verbal barrage again. "I can't believe this! Jim's life could be hanging in the balance! God only knows what they're doing to him – they could easily kill him, given their superior strength. We need a plan of action, not a course of meditation!" he shouted, bending close to Spock and throwing his hands up in frustration.

The Vulcan's face darkened briefly with an inner fury. "Sit down and be quiet, Doctor. For once in your life, be calm and composed when the situation calls for it," he snapped uncharacteristically. The sudden rush of anger disappeared as quickly as it had materialized, the Vulcan's eyes clouding over, going vacant once again. This time McCoy noticed a definite grimace of pain marring the Vulcan's usually impassive face.

"Why? What's going on, Spock? What aren't you telling me?" Sinking back down onto the bench, a shiver of fear ran through him. McCoy was unaware that the frustration and helplessness had melted from his tone to be replaced by a gentle empathy, knowing only that something in the Vulcan's voice, an urgency he hadn't heard previously, had set off warning bells.

"I am attempting to locate the captain, and assess his status," came the distant, focused reply.

"How?" the doctor remarked aloud, but deep down he already knew the answer, even if he didn't fully understand it. In the weeks and months prior, he had watched the rapport between the captain and first officer wax and wane, eventually dwindling away to almost nothing. On the outside all had appeared normal, the two interacting as the crew expected, for all intents and purposes the ship running smoothly, but he could sense an 'emotional' rift that was forcing them apart, and for the life of him had no idea as to the cause.

Out of options, he had been spurred into action several months ago, insisting the three of them take shore leave for ten days, in the hopes the two of them would then be given the privacy and time necessary to sort out whatever was causing this unexplained tension between them. McCoy had had his suspicions as to the nature of the problem, but had been reluctant to press either man, hoping that if he could get them in the right situation, under the right circumstances, they'd have the good sense to talk to one another. He'd been right, and they'd worked things out, not that either of them had seen fit to discuss it with him, but that was fine – he wasn't their mother, after all, and it really wasn't any of his business. As the CMO, but more importantly as their friend, his job was to make sure that their relationship stayed healthy – a lofty goal he had managed to pull off in spite of them.

It would have been lost on the casual observer, but McCoy had noted a marked difference in the way they interacted with one another since their leave on Triani Prime, as if each was dialed into the other's thought processes.

"It's some kind of a psychic link, isn't it?" he asked cautiously. "You and Jim have some kind of mental connection." It was not a question. His statement was met with stony silence. Once again, anger and frustration won out over reason. "Look Spock, I'm not trying to pry or anything, but if there's a chance you can use it to find Jim, please tell me what I can do to help." Although asked in the doctor's usual, gruff manner, Spock must have sensed something deeper.

"Yes, there is a mental link between us," the Vulcan admitted finally, meeting McCoy's eyes.

"How? Why?"

"At present, that is of little importance."

"Fair enough, but I need to know – can you tell what's happening to him, and if we do manage to get out of here, can you use it to locate him?"

"Affirmative, to both questions. Generally at this stage, the link is not directional, but I am attempting to fine tune it."

"Well, fill me in," McCoy demanded. "What's going on with him? Can you let him know that we're trying to get out of here and find him?"

"It does not function like a meld," the Vulcan informed him reluctantly. "There is no silent communication per se. I can only assess his current state of mind, which is becoming increasingly agitated."

"Can you tell why? Is he worried about the ship; or about us?" A moment of strained silence, "Or is it something else altogether?" McCoy asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"He is attempting to keep it from me, but I can sense an increasing level of pain."

McCoy nodded, licking his lips, his worst fears confirmed. "Well, whatever you're gonna do, make it fast. Jim may not have much time. These guys may be slower than humans but they are significantly stronger. Cornered, or restrained, they can inflict a terrible amount of damage on the captain." McCoy watched as the Vulcan closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Can't you trick the guard into leaving, or thinking we've escaped like you did with the giant ants on Beta Arcida IV, Spock?"

"In order to do that, I would have to focus my attention elsewhere, abandoning my contact with the captain. Not only would we then be unaware what is happening to Jim at the moment, but I sense that he is drawing some strength from my presence in his mind. I dare not suspend it. He might misconstrue the sudden cessation of contact as my having been dispatched by the enemy. Based on his past history, this could lead him to attempt an irrational, impulsive act if he feels there is no longer any hope."

McCoy's face fell at that. "Then we need a Plan B. We've got to get out of here."

"Agreed. If we can convince the guard that one of us has fallen ill, we might be able to persuade him to disengage the force field and enter in order to investigate. I shall attempt to create such a diversion. If I can entice him to approach close enough, I should be able to overpower him."

"Just don't do what you did when we tried to escape from the Kelvans; I'm gonna need you alert and conscious if we ever hope to find Jim."

"Understood." Rising from the low bench along the back wall of their cell, Spock walked to the center of the room. Pressing his hands together he closed his eyes, slumping to the floor. The lean form began to twitch uncontrollably, a thin line of spittle trickling from the corner of his mouth.

McCoy was beside him in an instant. "Damn it all to hell! I thought we agreed you wouldn't do anything risky," he lamented in a hoarse whisper, grasping the Vulcan's wrist in one hand and prying open an eyelid with the other. Spock's pulse was racing, eyes rolled into the back of his head. Engulfed by a moment of sheer panic, McCoy bolted for the door to their prison.

"Guard," he screamed, "something's wrong with Spock." He pointed to the figure, wracked by spasms, on the floor behind him. Their jailor glanced at the Vulcan, shrugging his shoulders in disinterest.

"Please, he seems to be having an adverse reaction to whatever that stuff is leaking into here. We've got to get him out of here!" he pleaded. The guard merely looked at McCoy. "He might be dying!" the doctor insisted emphatically.

"That mattersss little; we ssstill have two hossstagesss," their jailor remarked with indifference.

"Are you sure your captain will see it that way?" McCoy argued. "What if he had something special planned for him? Are you willing to take that chance?" The reptilian features didn't shift in the least. McCoy was unsure if his words had had any impact at all.

After a moment's hesitation the guard reached for the button controlling the force field, leveling his weapon at McCoy with the other hand. The glowing barrier flickered out of existence and at gunpoint, the tall alien waved McCoy several meters away from where Spock lay, face-down on the floor, deathly still now. Approaching the prone form cautiously, he first nudged the Vulcan with a toe. When that elicited no response, a swift kick to the ribs followed, along with the sound of bone snapping.

Spock remained motionless and McCoy lunged forward, unable to restrain himself, a growl of anger torn from his throat, only to find himself face-to-face with the barrel of the menacing-looking disruptor.

"Ssstay back," their jailor hissed, his finger twitching on the trigger. McCoy froze, and the large reptile bent over Spock once again. Grasping a shoulder, he flipped the Vulcan onto his back. In a flash, Spock lashed out, sending the disruptor skittering across the floor of their cell. McCoy bounded after it, noticing Spock attempt a nerve pinch on their burly jailor out of the corner of his eye, the Vulcan's long fingers digging into the sensitive spot between the neck and shoulder.

It proved ineffective, and despite its lumbering appearance, the green-skinned alien managed to grasp Spock around the chest with both arms, lifting him easily. The color drained from the Vulcan's face, his booted feet trying to connect with a stout reptilian knee in vain as their captor started to squeeze.

"Hold it right there," McCoy said, training the weapon on their hulking adversary.

His command was met by a low hiss of laughter as the Gorn turned, placing Spock between him and the doctor. "If you ssshoot, you will kill usss both. Give me the weapon and I will let him live."

From somewhere, Spock found the strength to reach out, his hands a blur around the reptilian neck. There was a sickening crunch as the massive head lolled to one side, bent at an odd angle. The thick arms immediately fell away from the Vulcan, who plummeted to the floor, the bulky, scaly body landing on top of him.

McCoy was instantly at his side. "Spock, are you okay?" he asked, the gun slipping from his hands as he struggled to roll the behemoth off the rangy Vulcan. "I could swear I heard one of your ribs break."

Spock slithered out from under the dead reptile. "It is inconsequential. I am functional," he assured McCoy, clambering gingerly to his feet. "We must hurry," he informed the doctor. "Jim's distress is mounting." Scooping the alien's weapon off the floor he raced for the door.

McCoy spared a quick glance at the dead being. He'd never seen Spock kill anything before. It could only mean one thing; Jim Kirk was running out of time. Swallowing his concern, he hurried after the Vulcan.

oooOOOooo

He wasn't sure how much more he could take. If he weren't tied to the chair, he doubted he'd still be able to sit in it. For the moment, his inquisitor was merely pacing back and forth in front of him, his two antagonists watching him, his blood glistening on their hands, a muffled rumble constituting their version of laughter masking the harshness of his breathing; the dull thrum of blood in his temples.

"What wasss the purpossse of the outpossst on Boradisss III, Captain?"

Silence.

"We have waysss of learning what we wisssh to know." His interrogator shot a glance at one of the guards, who smashed a fist down on his arm where it was strapped to the chair. Kirk bit back a scream as an earsplitting crack reverberated throughout the room.

"Well, Captain?"

"Go to Hell," he growled, dislodging a clot of blood from his split lip in the process. His insolence was rewarded with a resounding backhand, snapping his head against the high back of the chair. He fought to retain consciousness as black spots danced before his eyes.

"It seemsss you are unwilling to tell me what I wisssh to know." Thin lips were curled back as a malevolent grin appeared on the reptilian face, exposing a row of pointed, white teeth. "No matter; we have two other hossstages. It isss unlikely we can make the Vulcan talk, but the other human appearsss sssoft, weak. You can ssspare him much pain Captain – it isss up to you."

Kirk glared at his captors with one eye, the other already beginning to swell shut. He forced a derisive chuckle, his lips drawn into a sardonic grin, causing the claw marks on his cheek to ooze once again. "You can try. That man's a lot tougher than he looks; getting information out of him would be like trying to draw light out of a black hole."

"Then perhapsss we ssshould find out. Sssecurity Officer Goresssh, go and retrieve the other human prisssoner."

As the guard made for the door, Kirk struggled against his bonds, tipping the chair over in the process. Blackness finally took him as a scaly foot connected with the side of his head.

oooOOOooo

They were running through the dark corridors of the alien ship, either picking off or avoiding rogue crewmen as they went. And a little haphazardly to McCoy's mind, but one look at the Vulcan's face, carved in granite and set with a single-minded determination told him not to question the route they were following – Spock was being guided by his link to Jim, and they were in a race to find the captain before his death brought about a premature end to their search.

His suspicions now confirmed, McCoy silently admitted that while in the past, he'd been concerned that the growing rapport between the captain and first officer could lead to unforeseen problems, now, with Jim's life on the line, he was grateful for the mysterious bond that tied each to the other. Without it, they'd have no means to locate Jim before it was too late.

"How much farther?" the doctor said in a harsh whisper, his impatience finally getting the better of him, but the Vulcan's only response was to drag him into a dark alcove as three of the alien bipedal lizards, talking leisurely among themselves, strolled past them, headed back the way they had come.

In the gloom, McCoy searched the Vulcan's face. "What's wrong, Spock?" he asked, heart in his mouth, fearing the worst.

"The captain has lost consciousness; the torture has ceased for the moment," the XO announced grimly, eyes focused on the corridor beyond.

McCoy grabbed his arm. "Are you sure? I mean, is there a chance…?"

"He still lives," the Vulcan informed him. "The link is still there, but ends in blackness. If he had been killed, the link would cease to function."

"Can you tell how badly he's hurt?"

"He has been doing his utmost to block the pain from me, but he has not been entirely successful. Should he regain consciousness now, I do not know how much more he could endure."

"How much farther?" McCoy reiterated. "Are we close?"

"He is located behind that door," Spock said, gesturing to a location about twenty meters down the hall.

McCoy was convinced Spock would simply rush forward and break it down in his haste to get to Jim; was surprised when the Vulcan made no move toward it. "Then let's go," the doctor said, moving to step around the lean form. "We need to get in there and rescue him." A hand on his wrist restrained him.

"Agreed, but it is my estimation that there are at least three individuals inside. If we enter now, odds are one of them will be able to kill the captain before we can effect his rescue. In all probability, several of them will now depart; there is no need for more than one person to guard an unconscious victim, and the others will likely report their findings to their superior officer. We must wait for the right opportunity to guarantee Jim's safety."

"Well, what do you suggest? We can't just sit here and wait for him to come to so they can start pounding on him again."

As if on cue, the doors opened, two Gorn crewmembers emerging, speaking to each other in the guttural hiss inherent to their species. McCoy felt Spock tense beside him as one absently wiped his hands on his uniform, leaving trails of red behind.

"There is also the possibility that the two crewmen who left the captain's room were going to retrieve one or both of us, in an attempt to acquire information from us that the captain did not provide them. If that is the case, we must act with all due haste, before our absence is discovered."

"I get that. The problem is, there's probably still a guard in there with Jim, and ten to one says he's armed. So how do we get Jim out without getting him killed in the process?"

"Well…," came the cool, collected response.

oooOOOooo

"Mister Scott, Mister Spock and his companion have escaped their confinement and made their way to the third. All three of them are in the same location," Chekov reported, a definite note of relief in his voice.

"Keep track of them, lad. If we get the chance to lower shields I want them beamed aboard immediately." He depressed the intercom button on the arm of the command chair. "Scott to Auxiliary Control."

"_Auxiliary Control, DeSalle here, sir."_

"They're on the move, lad. How's it comin'?" Earlier on the bridge, he and the lieutenant had discussed finding a way to protect the small craft using the _Enterprise's_ deflector shields. It was something that had never been tried before.

"_We're just about ready, sir. If the scout ship undocks, I'll be able to create a bubble in our deflector shields, extending them around her for at least five minutes."_

"That should be long enough, lad. We'll be able to bring them aboard before they can fire on her. Stand by, an' await my signal. The game's definitely afoot over there. It's just a matter of us bein' ready on our end."

"_Aye, sir. DeSalle out."_

oooOOOooo

The door opened and McCoy entered first, the barrel of the disruptor pressed into his side, the owner of the weapon still hidden from view. The lone Gorn crewman glanced up from the desk where it was seated, its eyes gleaming.

"Ahh, fresssh meat, Goresssh," it said, rising to its feet. In the next instant, Spock stepped into the doorway, enveloping the large reptile in an electric blue wave of energy. It slumped to the floor, stunned. Spock rushed to the desk, destroying both the computer terminal and the comm unit situated there, and then dropped to the alien's side, pressing his fingers to the reptilian head.

"What are you doing?" McCoy whispered harshly, kneeling beside Kirk, fumbling to untie the bonds holding his friend to the chair.

"I am endeavoring to ensure that the captain's guard will be unable to call for assistance, and to learn the fastest route back to the shuttle, as well as the location of their weapons suite," Spock answered, eyes becoming unfocused as the meld took him.

McCoy, working furiously on the last of the knots, waited until the Vulcan's eyes cleared before speaking again. "The shuttle I get, but why the weapons suite?"

"No time to explain at present." Spock climbed to his feet, coming over and squatting down beside McCoy. "How is he, Doctor?" the Vulcan asked, a hand finding his captain's shoulder.

"All things considered, he could be in a lot worse shape, but if I can get him to sickbay I'll have a better idea of just how bad things are."

"We must hurry," Spock said, handing the disruptor to McCoy and scooping Kirk gingerly off the floor, cradling the injured man against his chest. "We do not know how long the stun will last, or when the other two guards will return." Rising to his feet with his precious burden, Spock made for the door, McCoy a step behind him.

As the doors swooshed closed behind them, Spock turned to McCoy. "Use the weapon. Fuse the doors. It may provide us with some additional time."

McCoy turned the disruptor on the doors, which glowed red as the seam between them melted into itself. Once the doctor was finished, Spock set off at a quick pace, his route sure this time, McCoy hurrying to match the long strides.

Several minutes later they arrived at the hatch linking the small scout vessel to the mother ship. Bounding through it close on Spock's heels, McCoy swung it closed with a resounding thud.

Making his way to the cockpit, Spock gently deposited his burden in a padded chair, McCoy dragging over a second they could use to stretch out the captain's legs.

Handing the disruptor to Spock, McCoy pressed his fingers to Kirk's carotid artery. "Fast, but steady and strong," he muttered, knowing the racing pulse could be a warning sign for numerous injuries, before cautiously examining the misshapen forearm. "His arm is definitely broken, and I'll wager his cheekbone is, too." Lifting the eyelid on the undamaged eye, he was relieved to see the pupil constrict immediately. "He definitely has a concussion, but so far there are no signs of an intracranial bleed." Next, he carefully probed Kirk's abdomen, alarmed by what he felt, but steadfastly refrained from comment. No point in worrying Spock over something he couldn't treat without the proper drugs and equipment.

His examination complete, McCoy found he couldn't stop his next words. "You want to explain what happened back there?" he asked quietly, keeping his eyes averted.

Spock glanced up sharply. "Specify."

"In the cell; what you did to the guard." His voice was soft; the words held no reproach, his eyes still focused on the injured man before him.

"I was unable to locate the proper nerve. Either it does not exist in this species, or is buried deeper than I am capable of reaching," Spock supplied, his voice barely audible.

"But you _killed _it," McCoy whispered, concerned eyes finally finding the Vulcan's grim, determined ones. "Why? That's not like you, Spock, no matter the circumstances."

"I had little choice in the matter. As stunning it would have enveloped me as well, tal-shaya was the only option. Even had we been able to render it unconscious somehow, we could not take the risk that even had we the time or means to restrain it, it would have been able to free itself and raise the alarm before we were able to rescue the captain."

Spock looked away, and McCoy found he was reluctant to press the matter. Despite the logic of the situation, the necessity of his actions, Spock was obviously troubled by what he had done. McCoy touched the Vulcan's sleeve. "Sorry, Spock," he said simply, empathetically. Spock acknowledged the sentiment with a curt nod of his head, and McCoy hoped the Vulcan understood the myriad of meanings contained in that one simple word.

Clearing his throat, the doctor asked, "What now? Do we power this baby up and hope we can make it back to the _Enterprise_ before we're blasted to smithereens?"

"We must disable the mother ship's weapons before attempting to flee. It is doubtful the _Enterprise_ would be able to protect us before we are destroyed by enemy fire." He spared a glance at Kirk. "You remain here with Jim. I shall proceed to their weapons suite, render their disruptors inoperative, and return here."

"We can't split up. What if you don't make it back?" McCoy had gone white, a hand closing around Spock's forearm.

"Doctor, surely you realize the captain is in no condition to travel. Logically, I must do this alone – we cannot leave Jim here unattended." The dark brown eyes became soft, pleading, even as the austere features remained stoically neutral. "Allow me ten minutes. If I have not returned by then you must fly the ship back to the _Enterprise._"

"Are you out of your Vulcan mind? I'm a doctor, not a pilot. I wouldn't have the first clue as to how to maneuver this hunk of junk back to the ship."

"That will not be necessary, Doctor. You only need undock her. Odds are the _Enterprise_ will be scanning for us. With the main ship's weapons non-functional, once they determine the identity of the occupants, they can lower shields and beam you aboard."

"And what if the ship isn't out there? What if they destroyed her?"

"Then you will have an opportunity to flee unmolested. It is safe to assume that if that were the case, this ship would have made for safe haven within their territory. The fact that she has not moved indicates either a standoff with the _Enterprise_ or crippling damage to her engines. Regardless, the odds are in your favor that you and Jim should be able to escape safely."

"And you? I won't leave you behind," McCoy declared emphatically.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Doctor, and assure you I shall do all in my power to return and assist you, but you must be prepared for the eventuality that you may have no other choice. If my attempt proves unsuccessful, or I am recaptured, this shuttle will represent the only means of escape for you and the captain."

"And if that's the case, it also means it's very likely this little ship will be blasted into oblivion, and Jim and I along with it."

"Would you prefer the alternative, Doctor?" Spock asked matter-of-factly, lips tightly compressed, eyes locked on McCoy's.

The doctor glanced down at Kirk. Staring at the bruised and bloodied face, listening to the hitched, labored breathing associated with intense pain, McCoy straightened his shoulders, meeting the Vulcan's eyes squarely. "I see what you mean. Just tell me which switches to throw and what levers to pull," he added grimly.

Spock pointed to the compact navigation console. "This switch will cause the ship to disengage from the docking port; this lever represents your throttle. Forward thrusters are controlled by this mechanism, this one aft." Again, he met the doctor's gaze resolutely. "If it comes to this, there is always the possibility that Mister Scott has devised an alternative plan if the ship is unable to lower her shields. He is most ingenious in matters such as this."

McCoy nodded, but recognized that Spock was only attempting to reassure him. "There are always alternatives, right Spock?" he said, a slight, determined grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Affirmative, Doctor."

Their musings were interrupted as Kirk began to stir, a soft groan squeezed from the parched throat. McCoy instantly slipped into CMO mode.

"Sit still, Jim – they worked you over pretty good," he said, restraining the captain's movements with a gentle hand to the shoulder.

"Where are we?" Kirk asked in a raspy murmur, his one good eye locking onto McCoy's face.

"We have managed to escape and are now ensconced in the small shuttle," Spock informed him. "So far, no alarm has been raised; therefore it is fair to assume the powers that be are as yet unaware of this development. I shall endeavor to disable their main weapons, at which time it will be possible for you and the doctor to pilot this vessel back to the _Enterprise_."

"No. We stay together, Spock, that's an order," Kirk wheezed, his features distorted by pain.

"We can't, Jim. Spock and I have already been over this. If he doesn't disable their weapons, they'll fry us the moment we try to leave." Next, McCoy tried appealing to Kirk's sense of responsibility for his vessel. "Besides, taking her weapons off-line will provide the best chance for the _Enterprise_ if she's still there."

"I must concur," Spock added. "Logically, you and the doctor should remain here. I shall be able to travel faster alone, and you can secure this vessel while I render their disruptors inoperative. Whether or not the _Enterprise_ is still with us, this small ship represents our only chance for survival."

"What about you?" Kirk asked.

"I shall attempt to rendezvous with you here. If I have not returned in ten minutes, you and the doctor must continue with the attempt to escape from our captors. Here, you will need this," he said, holding out the alien weapon.

Kirk shook his head. "You'll need it more than we will. Odds are, given the current situation, they'll have crewmen manning the weapons suite. They'd have no cause to guard the shuttle at present."

"On the contrary, once they discover we are no longer prisoners, logically that will be the first location they will search in an attempt to reacquire us. It may be your last line of defense should they breach the hatch. Besides, Captain, I do have an advantage – in terms of physical strength, I am more evenly matched against them than you humans are."

"Amen to that," McCoy chimed in, remembering the ease with which Spock had snapped their jailor's neck.

"I must go, gentlemen; every moment we delay grants them the opportunity to discover our absence." Heading toward the rear of the vessel, Spock made for the scout ship's hatch.

A hand on his arm stopped him. The Vulcan turned, meeting the doctor's icy blue eyes. "How will we know it's you? If someone starts banging on the hatch, it may very well be the Gorn trying to open it and get at us."

"I shall use the ancient Earth signal for all vessels in distress – SOS – tapped out in Morse code, of course."

"Of course," McCoy said, unable to control his sudden irritation with the Vulcan. "And naturally you're assuming I'd know what that is…how? I'm a doctor not a communications specialist, Spock."

A soft snicker, ending in a wheezing cough, could be heard coming from the vicinity of the cockpit.

Spock raised an eyebrow, addressing McCoy. "It was taught as part of the entrance-level history course at the Academy – the same one which explained the rudiments of forming various nautical knots, incidentally – but I shall refresh your memory." The Vulcan reached over, tapping three times in rapid succession on the bulkhead of the little ship, three times with a longer pause between each, and finally three rapid taps again.

"Okay, got it." McCoy hesitated, lowering his gaze, licking his lips. "Spock, I…" His hand found the Vulcan's forearm again, the blue eyes flicking to Spock's. "Good luck," the doctor whispered. The Vulcan responded with an imperceptible tilt of the head, eyes softening, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. They held the moment for a beat, McCoy then releasing his hold on the Vulcan's arm as Spock disappeared through the oval opening leading into the mother ship.

oooOOOooo

"Mister Scott, all three of them are in the little shuttle," Chekov announced, unable to keep the excitement in his voice at bay. "There's no heightened activity among the Gorn crew; they probably aren't aware they have escaped yet."

Scotty clicked the switch on the intercom. "Mister DeSalle, they're all three in the pod. Get ready to extend the shields on my signal."

"_Aye sir, we're set."_ A flurry of activity could be heard in the background over the open mike as the engineers readied themselves. But a minute went by, two minutes, and still the scout vessel had not disengaged from its larger host.

"What the hell are they doin' over there?" Scotty blurted out, coming to his feet. "They'd better make a move soon, before the Gorn come after them. We can't assist them until they're clear of the big ship."

Chekov was the next to speak, a definite edge of concern and confusion evident in his tone. "Sair, Mister Spock has just exited the shuttle." He turned from the scanner. "Why, sair? Why would he leave?"

"I dinna ken," the Scotsmen responded, sinking into the command chair, "But I'm sure if Mister Spock's doin' it, there's got to be a logical reason. Keep track of him, Ensign, and the captain and Doctor McCoy as well." He spoke into the intercom again. "Mister DeSalle?"

"_Here, sir."_

"There's apparently been a change of plans on board the other ship, but be ready at a moment's notice anyway."

"_Aye sir, standing by. Auxiliary Control out."_

"This could go any way now," Scott muttered under his breath. Suddenly he was hit by a flash of inspiration. He depressed the switch on the intercom once again. "Transporter Room."

"_Aye sir, Kyle here."_

"Mister Kyle, I want ye to tie into Chekov's scanners. Keep track of the exact coordinates for all three of our officers, an' be ready to beam them over instantly on my signal."

"_Tying in now, sir. Completed, and awaiting your signal."_

"Very good. Bridge out." He clicked off the comm unit. "Well, we're ready no matter what ye throw at us, gentlemen. I just hope ye know what ye're doin'."

oooOOOooo

After securing the hatch, McCoy made his way back to the navigation console, only to discover that Kirk had slipped into unconsciousness again. The captain's face was white, chalky, sweat glistening on his brow, his breathing harsh and irregular. _He's going into hypovolemic shock_, McCoy noted morosely, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Kneeling down beside Kirk, he drew up the gold command tunic and the black undershirt beneath it. To his horror he noted the deep bruises on the captain's abdomen, confirming his earlier suspicions – Kirk was almost certainly suffering from serious internal injuries. _Spock better hurry up_, he thought dourly. _Things will be touch and go, even with immediate treatment._ For once, he was truly concerned that Kirk might not make it. In a moment of sheer, unadulterated tenderness, he grasped his friend's hand. "Hold on, Jim," he whispered aloud, his voice cracking painfully. "We've had it much worse. As much as I hate to admit it, that blasted Vulcan's cockamamie scheme just might work. Don't die on me before giving Spock a chance to see it through, or giving me a chance to save your sorry ass." Angrily, he scrubbed at his cheek.

Releasing Kirk's hand he climbed to his feet, sparing a glance at the chronometer. Five minutes were gone already. Resolutely he positioned himself in front of the hatch, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. If Spock was going to buy their freedom with his life, he'd do his utmost to see that it was money well spent.

oooOOOooo

Spock loped cautiously down the narrow corridors of the alien ship with a sense of urgency. His time sense told him five minutes had passed already. At the outset, he had known this was a one-way street – getting to the weapons suite and back to the scout ship in under ten minutes was next to impossible, but that was of little importance. What mattered was that the lives of his two friends depended on his success in circumventing the Gorn ship's defenses. Failure on his part would almost certainly guarantee a death sentence for each of them, whether in be in a hail of disruptor fire, or at the hands of their reptilian inquisitors.

He reached the door to the weapons suite having evaded detection. As he pondered different scenarios, alarms began to sound throughout the confined space, a flurry of activity taking place in the adjoining corridors.

Out of options, and out of time, he rushed the door, hoping the lock didn't engage automatically when the klaxons were activated. Bursting into the tiny space, he bowled over the two startled crewmen on duty there, smashing the console before him with his bare fists.

Regaining their composure, the two reptiles flanked him, backing him into a corner. His hands brushing cool metal walls, he realized there was nowhere else to go. As a clawed hand reached for him, a wave of astonishment, followed shortly by relief, washed over him as he felt the familiar tingle of the transporter.

oooOOOooo

"Sair, the Gorn ship's weapons have just gone off-line!" Chekov shouted.

"What's the status of our men?" Scotty demanded.

"The captain and Doctor McCoy are still in the small ship; no sign of Gorn there as of yet. Mister Spock is in a room with two Gorn crewmen."

"Sulu, drop our shields! Chekov, watch for signs of them powerin' up their weapons – it may be a trap."

"Shields down, sir."

Scotty slammed his fist down on the button for the comm unit. "Mister Kyle, beam Mister Spock aboard!"

"_Aye sir."_ The bridge crew waited with bated breath as they heard the mechanism hum to life over the open mike.

"Weapons still inoperative, Mister Scott, but five Gorn crewmen are now in the vicinity of the shuttle." A pause. "The ship has powered up. It's undocking, sair."

"Kyle, report!" Scott hollered into the intercom.

"_Mister Spock is on board, sir."_

"Mister Scott," Chekov interrupted again, an unmistakable urgency in his voice. "The scout ship has entered the planet's upper atmosphere." He glanced over his shoulder at the command chair, a look of horror on his face. "She's burning up, sair."

"Kyle, lock onto the captain and Doctor McCoy and beam them aboard."

"_I can't, sir."_ The anguish in the transporter chief's voice was palpable. "_The ship is in free-fall. It's moving too fast for me to get a lock on them."_

"Mister Sulu, get a tractor beam on that ship!"

"Yes sir. Tractor beam activated."

"We got her, sair. Uncontrolled descent has stopped," Chekov informed him, eyes glued to the hooded viewer.

"Kyle, energize," Scott roared.

Once again, silence reigned on the bridge as the crew waited for Kyle's report. "Got them, sir," he announced a short time later. A spontaneous cheer went up from the bridge crew, Scott releasing a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

oooOOOooo

As McCoy was going over Spock's instructions for maneuvering the little scout vessel in his head, alarms began to sound on the other side of the thick, metal door. A hurried glance at the chronometer showed another minute had elapsed. _To hell with Spock's ten minutes. I'll stay here until I hear him knocking at the hatch, or someone else knocking._

He didn't have to wait long.

He saw someone jiggle the handle, a furious pounding ensuing when the door failed to open. Having no other choice, he made his way forward, slipping into the pilot's seat and powering up the little craft. As the viewports opened, the _Enterprise _filled the windows. To him, the ship had never looked so beautiful.

Whispering a silent apology to Spock, he depressed the switch that would release the scout ship from her moorings. Almost immediately, she started to drift away from her host and toward the planet below. He pulled a lever, but instead of firing the aft thrusters, the forward ones sparked to life, causing the little ship to speed toward the planet even faster.

He yanked on the other lever, but the gravitational pull of the celestial body below had them in its grip, unwilling to relinquish its hold. Using both hands, he struggled to regain control of the little craft, tugging determinedly on the throttle, flashes of heat now visible through the ports as friction with the atmosphere elevated the temperature of the outer hull dangerously. His efforts proved to be in vain. The small ship continued her dizzying tumble toward the surface of the planet unchecked.

Just when he was convinced Spock's sacrifice had been for naught, the tiny craft lurched to a halt, sending him and Kirk tumbling to the deck. He reached for his friend, but before his hand closed on the captain he felt his body start to dissolve.

oooOOOooo

Listening to the exchange between the bridge and Kyle, Spock had bolted for the door to the transporter room, his hand slamming down on the nearest comm unit in the corridor. "Sickbay, medical emergency. Trauma team to the transporter room immediately." Not waiting for a response, he rushed back through the doors in time to see two shapes materializing on the pads.

Bounding up the stairs, he was at McCoy's side as the doctor pushed himself to a seated position.

"We need to get him to sickbay, stat," the doctor said, reaching for Kirk, not allowing himself the luxury of wondering how or why the Vulcan was here. "He's hemorrhaging internally and that last hit we took is sure to have made things worse."

"The trauma team is en route," Spock supplied, his voice tight, once again retrieving his captain off the floor and pressing him to his chest, as if by the sheer force of his will he could protect him, somehow stop Kirk's relentless spiral into death.

Kyle was at the doctor's elbow, a spare medikit in his hands. McCoy snatched it from him, some of the contents spilling to the floor in his haste to open it and retrieve a hypo. First blasting the captain with a dose of Tri-ox compound, he then dialed in a powerful nitrite, pressing the device to Kirk's arm a second time, a small sigh of relief escaping the grim, craggy features. "That should stabilize his heart for a few minutes, and give his organs a burst of oxygen until we can get his fluid volume up," he announced, somewhat relieved, retrieving the scanner off the deck and waving it over his friend. "Just as I suspected. Lacerated liver, ruptured spleen. Where the hell is the trauma unit?" he bellowed hotly.

Spock started for the doors, prepared to carry Kirk to sickbay himself, when they parted, admitting the medical team with the gurney. The Vulcan gently deposited his friend onto the wheeled bed, his eyes locking with McCoy's. "I must get to the bridge," he said, his gaze returning involuntarily to the swollen, bruised face of his commanding officer.

McCoy reached out; touched his arm briefly. "Go. I'll take care of him, I swear." The doctor turned to the orderlies, barking orders: "Get an IV started stat, and let's get him to sickbay. Kyle, call M'Benga and let him know we're on the way with the captain; he'll need emergency abdominal surgery. Tell him to be ready."

Spock disappeared through the doors without a backward glance, knowing Kirk couldn't possibly be in better hands.

oooOOOooo

"Mister Sulu, raise shields. Mister Farrell, get me the commander of that ship," Scotty barked.

"Aye, sir. Shields up."

"Hailing frequency open, sir," the two men answered simultaneously.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Scott. Ye have entered Federation space an' destroyed an unarmed outpost. Yer shields are gone, yer weapons an' engines disabled. We demand yer immediate surrender. The Federation considers this an act of war. Yer ship will be confiscated, yer crew turned over to the authorities."

The face of the Gorn captain filled the viewscreen. "We will not sssurrender," he stated emphatically.

"An' we will not simply let ye get away with destroying a facility that was clearly within our borders. If need be, we'll tow ye to the nearest starbase. If ye resist, we'll be forced to persuade ye to see things our way. Ye have one minute to decide." He motioned to Farrell to kill the feed.

At that moment the turbolift doors opened, Spock rushing onto the bridge. "Mister Scott, report," the Vulcan asked crisply, striding with purpose to the inner ring and seating himself in the command chair Scott had vacated moments before.

"We took out their shields and warp drive. I'm guessing ye had somethin' to do with their loss of firepower," Scott said, a mischievous grin appearing on the previously composed face. "Clearly they are in violation of the Treaty between our two governments. I have ordered them to surrender, and given them one minute to comply. Time?" he asked, turning and addressing Sulu.

"Twenty-five seconds remaining," Sulu replied.

Spock stepped in. "Mister Farrell, please make certain all of this is being recorded – we will need proof during the investigation as to their location during the standoff."

"Recorders have been operating since the Gorn ship appeared initially, Mister Spock," Farrell informed him, pausing as his fingers began playing over the console before him. "Sir, we're being hailed."

"Put it on screen."

The face of the Gorn captain appeared once again. If he was surprised to see Spock it didn't show. "We have decided to become your prisssonersss on one condition—"

"The request was not conditional, but rather an ultimatum," Spock interjected. "You have violated Federation space and engaged in an unprovoked attack on a peaceful outpost, killing the entire complement of twenty personnel. You _will_ be held accountable for your actions."

"We have undeniable proof that the facccility was not peaccceful, but wasss preparing to launch an attack on usss. We were merely protecting ourssselves."

"That is for our respective governments, and diplomats, to sort out. In any case, with or without your cooperation, your ship will be delivered to the proper authorities."

The Gorn captain began speaking again, but it was Chekov's voice that drew Spock's attention: "Mister Spock their impulse engines are on overload!" the young Russian informed him, his voice thick with anxiety. "Implosion will occur in fifteen seconds."

"Mister Sulu, evasive maneuvers. Retreat to a safe distance."

The bridge crew held on as the ship cut hard to port, racing to escape the impending blast. Behind them, the Gorn ship disappeared in a shower of white-hot energy, the shock wave from the force of the explosion tossing the _Enterprise _like a cork on choppy seas.

"Damage report," Spock snapped over the din of tumbling bodies and screaming machinery.

The communications officer scrambled to regain his seat. "Some minor injuries being reported, sir," Farrell said, pausing as he readjusted his silver earpiece. No structural damage, no ship's systems affected." All over the bridge, chairs were being righted, arms extended to those comrades still on the deck.

"Mister Farrell, inform Starfleet Command of this development. Ask them to advise us with further instructions regarding how we are to proceed."

"Aye, sir."

Spock's hand found the comm button on the command chair. "Spock to security."

"_Security, Lieutenant Tsikalas here."_

"Lieutenant, assemble a force to return to the planet's surface and report to the transporter room in fifteen minutes. The devastation must be catalogued. The recording devices of the previous landing party were confiscated by the enemy."

"_Yes, sir. Tsikalas out."_

Spock looked up to see all eyes in the room fixed on him. He knew why immediately. "The captain was injured during our time on the enemy ship," he stated without preamble, reluctant to divulge any additional information. "He is currently in sickbay, being tended to by Doctor McCoy." He turned to the chief engineer, who was still standing beside the command chair. "Mister Scott," he said, rising to his feet, "you have the con. I shall be in sickbay checking on the captain's progress." Ignoring the frightened stares on the faces around him, the Vulcan disappeared into the turbolift. The fact that he hadn't simply called spoke volumes.

oooOOOooo

When the doors to sickbay opened, Spock walked into a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Kirk was on the surgery table, a tangle of tubes and wires sprouting from his body, several orderlies running back and forth with supplies, McCoy and M'Benga working frantically over the still form.

"Nurse," McCoy said, his voice tight, controlled, "get another pint of O negative into him – he's a mess in there but that spleen has to come out right now or we'll lose him."

"Yes, Doctor," Chapel replied, hurrying to attach another bag of blood to the fluid pump. The life-giving red liquid could be seen traveling through the tubes to the patient. M'Benga began suctioning the abdominal cavity as McCoy sealed off as many bleeders as he could find. Once the flow had slowed considerably, M'Benga grasped the damaged spleen with both hands. McCoy lifted his laser scalpel, preparing to sever the splenic artery, the only structure keeping the organ in place, when he noticed Spock standing just inside the sickbay doors.

"Nurse," he said, inclining his head slightly toward the Vulcan. M'Benga had turned to look as well. "Go," McCoy whispered to Chapel under his breath, "We're fine here. Just get him out of this room."

Chapel placed herself in Spock's line of sight, a cheerful grin pasted to her face. "Mister Spock," she said brightly, reaching for a thin wrist, "let's go in the other room and let the doctors work. You know as well as I do he's being attended to by the two best surgeons in the fleet." She tugged at his arm, trying to lead him from the operating room.

"No, thank you, Nurse; I wish to remain here." The Vulcan planted himself in the doorway, refusing to be moved. All the platitudes in the world could not erase what had been all-to-obvious during his frenetic trip here from the bridge – he could feel the link shutting down. Jim was slipping away from him and he was powerless to stop it.

oooOOOooo

The surgery lasted for another ninety minutes, McCoy and M'Benga working to repair the damaged liver lobe, the bruised kidney, reconstruct the shattered cheekbone, set the fractured radius. During the abdominal repairs, McCoy found it was more reassuring to check Spock's reaction rather than the myriad of diagnostic machines at his disposal. A glance in the Vulcan's direction told him exactly when things turned around for Kirk, courtesy of the link he now knew existed between the captain and his first officer. It sure as hell made him more confident that Kirk would indeed recover.

Spock had not budged from his spot by the door adjoining the main ward of sickbay to the surgery suite until they'd switched off the sterilite, transferred Kirk to a waiting gurney and started to wheel him off to the nearest biobed. The Vulcan followed at a respectable distance, ensconcing himself in a chair beside Kirk's bed with that immovable, unearthly sense of purpose.

McCoy took it upon himself to be the irresistible force. "Spock, we still need to see to that broken rib of yours," he said, coming to stand beside the Vulcan.

"It can wait, Doctor. It is not causing me any undue distress."

"Let me be the judge of that, will ya? I didn't spend eight years getting my medical degree for nothing, you know." His tone was light, cajoling.

"Despite my profound faith in your dubious training, Doctor, I can assure you I am functional at the moment," Spock responded, eyes never leaving Kirk.

McCoy's patience was starting to wear thin. "Be that as it may, Spock, I'm beholden to a little thing known as the Hippocratic Oath. In good conscience, I can't let an injured party go unattended, so humor me, okay?"

Spock glanced up, and McCoy felt his mood soften inexplicably.

"He'll be okay, Spock – really. I guarantee he won't wake up in the half and hour it will take me to set your rib. Besides, you know he'd be all kinds of pissed off at me if I didn't insist on giving you the once over." A wave of indecisiveness flitted briefly over the ascetic features, and McCoy realized that for once, he had won. "C'mon Spock – 'yield to the logic of the situation,'" he remarked, gesturing to the treatment area of sickbay.

Spock climbed reluctantly to his feet, and McCoy was relieved to hear the cat-like steps following him into the other room.

The doctor patted the diagnostic bed. "Hop up here and let's have a look."

Spock complied, seating himself without a word, legs swinging freely over the edge. As if by magic, a scanner appeared in the doctor's hand. He proceeded to pass it over the blue-clad form. "Wow, you hit the jackpot," the doctor whistled, "not one, but two broken ribs. And I'll bet they smart, too." Spock refrained from comment. "They're well-opposed; no peripheral tissue damage, no need to realign them before we use the bone-knitter," McCoy muttered, mostly to himself. "Nurse," he called over his shoulder.

Chapel appeared an instant later. "Go and get the portable bone-knitter, would you, please?" he asked evenly. She hurried off, rolling the machine into place a few moments later.

"Here, lay back, Spock," McCoy instructed, offering a supportive hand as the first officer assumed a prone position. The doctor knew that type of movement had to hurt, even if the Vulcan was too proud to show it.

"Okay Nurse, please position it to encompass the two lowest true ribs on his left side, about one-third of the way from their proximal attachment to the sternum."

She hurried to comply, turning the machine on when McCoy was satisfied with its placement. "Thank you, Nurse. That will be all," the CMO announced, dismissing her brusquely. Glancing at each man in turn, confusion clouding her features, Chapel disappeared without a word.

"A half an hour or so should do it, Spock. They won't be completely healed, but I'm sure your Vulcan metabolism will see to the rest. In twenty-four hours, you'll never know it happened."

Spock's eyes met his, and McCoy could plainly see something there besides a desire to bristle at the doctor's instructions.

"Something else, Spock?"

"Yes; I wish to thank you, Doctor."

"Thank me; for what?"

"For Jim's life. It is due to your skill that he is still with us."

"I appreciate that, Spock, but I think you had just as much to do with it as I did." McCoy cast a knowing glance in Spock's direction.

"In what way?" the Vulcan asked innocently.

"Look Spock, I may have been born at night, but I wasn't born _last_ night. I know you were using that link thing to reassure Jim, to supply him with more strength of will than he would have been able to muster on his own. Not to alarm you or anything, but ninety-two percent of patients with internal injuries as severe as those Jim had don't make it. However, I have no doubt that he'll make a full recovery. While I'd love to take all the credit for pulling him through, seems to me it was a group effort."

Choosing not to respond, the Vulcan shifted uncomfortably. "Lay still," McCoy admonished, "or I'll have to stop and recalibrate the machine." Somewhat troubled by what he'd noticed happening between the captain and first officer for several months now, he finally had just cause to broach the subject. With nothing left to stop him, he found the words tumbled over one another like leaves caught in a stiff, autumn breeze. "You know I'm normally not one to put my nose in your and Jim's business—" an eyebrow was raised sharply at that "—but don't you think the fact that a link existed between the two of you was a little tidbit you both might have wanted to share with me?"

"For what purpose, Doctor?"

"Well, for one thing, in your case maybe I wouldn't have been so quick to assume that you were completely off your rocker when you insisted we stick around to rescue Jim in Tholian space. I realize now you had inside information regarding his fate." Spock looked away. "I won't doubt either of you again when it comes to intuition about the welfare of the other," McCoy assured him.

"Besides," he continued, "it makes me a little more confident that our pact to protect Jim from himself just might work after all. At least you'll know when he's contemplating doing something extremely stupid."

Again, Spock refrained from comment, swallowing nervously. This was a personal, private matter between him and Jim. While he did not regret divulging the link's existence to the doctor, that did not mean he had to discuss in great detail how it functioned with the curmudgeonly surgeon.

The CMO, seemingly oblivious to the Vulcan's discomfort, continued undaunted. "Not to mention, much as you're both loath to admit it, you two need each other; you function better together than either of you could separately – you especially, Spock – Jim's influence makes you almost likeable at times," he finished smugly, eyes gleaming.

"The fact that you find me disagreeable for the most part pleases me no end, Doctor," came the quick rejoinder.

McCoy's face then took on a look of mock derision. "Although I'm not sure I envy Jim in the least – I can't imagine how utterly impossible it would be for me to function with you constantly swimming around inside my head – your damnable Vulcan stoicism and logic clashing with my all-too-human penchant for unbridled emotionality. It'd be like the ultimate matter/antimatter implosion. We'd both wind up in the loony bin for sure." McCoy flashed a mischievous grin at the Vulcan, attempting to alleviate some of the sting of his words.

Spock shuddered involuntarily. At least Jim's mind was ordered, remarkably disciplined for a human. To be subject to the rampant emotionalism and chaos that was McCoy's mind was almost beyond his comprehension. That would be an interesting development indeed, should he ever be forced to share consciousness with the doctor. He doubted either of them would survive it unscathed.

He glanced up at McCoy. The doctor's look had suddenly become contemplative, almost fearful. Turning deeply apprehensive eyes on the Vulcan, his compulsive nature won out again. "But here's the thing, Spock, and I've got to know beyond a shadow of a doubt – there isn't any danger involved with this link for either of you, is there?" When the Vulcan didn't answer right away, McCoy strove to clarify the question. "It won't scramble your brains to the point that you'll each lose your individuality, or pose a serious threat to the other if one of you dies, right?" He paused, eyes softening. "I'm not trying to satisfy my curiosity, Spock; I understand that this is something that's strictly between you and Jim, and frankly it's an area I'd rather not have to delve into, but even you have to agree that these are the things I need to know as your doctor; in order to accurately monitor and assess the mental health of each of you."

Spock was spared an immediate response as the intercom on the desk whistled. Glaring at the Vulcan to stay put, he walked over and opened the channel. "Sickbay, McCoy here."

"_Is Mister Spock there, Doctor? Message from Starfleet,"_ Scotty informed the CMO.

A stern look pinned Spock to the bed. "He's here, but he's indisposed at the minute; won't be going anywhere or doing anything for the next twelve hours per medical orders. He can hear you; go ahead, Scotty."

"_Sir, we are to report to Starbase 133 immediately, and present all evidence showing the Gorn incursion into Federation territory."_

"Very well, Mister Scott," Spock replied from across the room. "Instruct Mister Chekov to plot a course, and Mister Sulu to engage at warp two. You have the con until shift change."

"_Aye, sir,"_ the Scotsman responded. _"Bridge out."_

McCoy switched off the intercom and returned to the Vulcan's side. "Well, Spock? Do I have anything to worry about?"

"I would not knowingly engage in any activity which could put Jim's life or sanity at risk. Surely you realize this, Doctor?"

McCoy nodded, but the image of Kirk, his face gray, not breathing, his neck wrapped tightly in a strap being held by the Vulcan paraded across his vision. He was sure Spock hadn't intentionally put Jim's life at risk in that instance, either, but that didn't change the fact that Kirk had almost died. It only added to his unease. This development brought a whole new dynamic to the growing rapport between his two friends, and McCoy would have to be on his toes to watch for signs of hidden problems. He sighed inwardly. These two would be the death of him for sure.

"All right, Spock, I'll accept that for now, with the understanding that I expect – no, demand – that you come to me at the first sign of trouble for either of you. I'm asking that of you, since not having any previous experience with this Vulcan mental mumbo jumbo, Jim may not be aware of the early warning signs. As the ship's Chief Medical Officer, my job is to make sure our command team is functioning at peak efficiency, so surely you can see the logic of my need to be informed. If it helps, know that I'm not planning on entering this fact into my medical log, or sharing it with anyone further up the chain of command – unless if at some point by not doing so it could put either – or both – of your lives in danger."

"I shall keep you abreast of any untoward developments, Doctor, but as of yet, there are no foreseeable issues."

"Okay, Spock, but just be aware – I'm gonna hold you to that." His look shifted once again. "There are some other patients with minor injuries I have to attend to. You need to stay here for the next twenty-five minutes. After that, you can go sit with Jim. If you don't think you can follow those instructions, I'll see that Nurse Chapel enforces them."

"Unnecessary, Doctor," Spock replied, closing his eyes. McCoy permitted himself a self-satisfied smirk, making for the nearest treatment room, but the inexplicable feeling of unease continued to dog him like a hungry predator stalking injured prey.

oooOOOooo

_Three days later_

He was in his quarters, working on quarterly fuel consumption reports and requisition forms, and he'd had to fight with McCoy to even be allowed this small measure of normalcy. His abdomen was still painful, his body still struggling to recover from the massive, traumatic blood loss he'd suffered, but he'd been going stir-crazy in sickbay. It wasn't duty on the bridge, but even though paperwork was the bane of his professional existence, it sure beat the hell out of lying flat on his back, doing nothing for hours on end. Even catching up on his reading or chess games with Spock had lost their shine after two days. Only his constant wheedling had caused McCoy to relent, with explicit orders that he was to remain in his quarters – even for meals – wasn't to lift anything heavier than a PADD for at least a week, and the bridge was strictly off-limits for a minimum of two more days. Much to his chagrin, McCoy had been stopping by every few hours to ensure his instructions were being followed to the letter. When the buzzer to his cabin sounded, he sighed, mentally preparing himself for another of the doctor's over-protective onslaughts.

"Come."

To his great relief, it was Spock who entered, a colorful stack of tapes in his hand. "I have the final report regarding the Boradis incident, Captain."

"Is the Gorn government taking responsibility?" he asked, waving Spock into a chair.

The Vulcan seated himself. "They are insisting they had no prior knowledge of the plan to invade Federation space and destroy the base. According to them, the action was carried out by a captain who had gone rogue, he and his crew engaging in activities contrary to established protocol.

"A convenient excuse, and one it's almost impossible to disprove."

"Agreed. This will warrant further vigilance and monitoring on the part of the Federation, all along the border with the Gorn Hegemony."

"If something like this happens again, they won't be able to deny it next time." Kirk took the opportunity to steer the conversation to other ship's business. "I'm planning on assigning Lieutenant Commander Mandala Flynn as Giotto's replacement, and making DeSalle her deputy for the remainder of his security rotation. Comments? Objections?"

"The selection is sound. She is an experienced combat officer, and the knowledge Lieutenant DeSalle will acquire will prove most beneficial within the parameters of his REFLEX training."

"Would you mind completing the paperwork, Spock? I need to work on the letter to Giotto's family."

"I shall begin immediately, Captain," the Vulcan said, rising to his feet and heading for the door.

Alone again, Kirk drew a piece of stationery from his desk. He'd done over sixty of these letters thus far during his tenure as captain of the _Enterprise_, each one hand-written. He felt he owed the families that much at least.

Half an hour later, having completed the somber task, he headed for his bunk, retrieving his copy of 'Dracula' off the shelf above his bed. Gingery settling himself onto his back, he opened the book to the last chapter. His eyes devouring the words quickly, he came to the last line: _'And, to our grief, with a smile and in silence, he died, a gallant gentleman.'_

Softly closing the leather-bound work, he found that, as always, this chapter never failed to move him. The dedication and sacrifice shown as the five friends fought to rid the world of the evil monster who had hold over the beloved of one of their own was even more compelling than usual. It made him think of the friends who would sacrifice all for him, and for whom he would do the same.

And yet, this time, it was much more than that. With the exception of Gary, he had never lost a close, personal friend from among his crew, yet he felt each death keenly; despite the fact that all were not part of his inner circle, they were all family, and it always brought about sincere feelings of remorse and grief when he knew a life for which he had been responsible had been extinguished prematurely. He reread the last line again, and couldn't help but think of Giotto.


End file.
